


Divided By Zero

by Helig



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Nulgorsk, The Smiling God - Freeform, monologues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helig/pseuds/Helig
Summary: Nulgorsk is lost in the light. So is its radio.





	1. Epicenter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light that casts away all shadows shines at 6·10^(-19) HZ.

QRA RA-0GRSK. GUHOR. SOS. SOS.

The light is everywhere now. It shouldn’t be, should it? I mean-- I mean, we all are-- All of us should be gone, right? I thought it would be dark and that I wouldn’t feel, well, anything. Be anything. They say they didn’t, on the isles, at least not in the center. And I can still _feel,_  I can feel the tumblers, the frequency knob, and all. Cool to the touch, and whole, and humming. It _is,_  yet I know it is not here.

I’m not here.

Is this--? I have not-- I have never believed. There is no God, right? That’s what they teach in schools. Still … Grandma believed. I didn’t know her, but there is a box in the garage, and all. Some icons, a cross, a big leather bound book - all that. Mom kept it, I think. I never asked, but it’s not like it’s dangerous to say this now, right? Right.

It’s so quiet.

Big brother got to the station above ground, I guess. I got his message. He said he was sorry. But it can’t be his fault, right? All of this. It was _them,_  not Pet’ya -- I had nightmares it would be _them_. We all knew it would happen and we are not the people who would ever …

I guess it was for being so far away, before the end.

It’s alright. I understand.

A pity he won’t hear that, after all.

SOS. QTR 26.09.1983 1434. QTH 51.224827,156.729882.

The light won’t fade. Neither would I or the radio. Maybe it’s stuck, this light. Maybe I am stuck. How long has it been? It’s hard to measure anything here. Am I breathing? Moving?

Tuned into the long range for the emergency broadcasts. It’s quiet, too, like everything else is. I should keep looking, I can’t be alone here. It’s not just because it’s improbable, given how big the town is.

Was.

It’s also because it’s just too terrifying, that thought. The thought of spending infinity in the silence, bereft of all feelings but for the sole existence of my radio, shapeless and somehow - still here.

Amateur stations Dima Kleschev and Tatyana Mirova tend to are silent. Naval transmissions from the docs or the ships … same story, really. Just this bone shredding silence.

I don’t want to think about what happened at the base. Mom was at work, that day, too. I hope Lena was okay, wherever she went. I-- Alright. Frequencies.

Oh, and, Committee for State Security? If you are still out there, well, I hope you flip.

  
QSX 30HZ. QRA RA-0GRSK. SOS. QUA W-NVLE.


	2. Look Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Soviet Union, Moonshine is valued more than smiles and sunshine.

QRA RA-0GRSK.

I would track the time if I could, really. It's not like there is much else to do here, while I keep an ear out for any coherent messages to slip through the white noise, but it's just ... hard. What's with this little feeling that I do and do not exist in this frigid brightness.

Another tiny issue might be involved, it being that, well, it's not like I - or we, if anyone else is here - have any sun to guide us in these trying times. Or stars. Or, you know, caesium 133 hooked into an oscillator! Or whatever that big thing is. Although I'd love to have some of that-- that would be, well, sumptuous! After all, our quantified perception of this integral dimension is often vital to little human things such as:  
 sanity,  
   hope,  
     remembering that religion and capitalism are horrible things endorsed by bourgeoisie as means of oppression aimed at us poor working class.

Anyway ... I'll probably-- I'll just keep on talking.

It's not like I need to worry about _what_ I am talking about, anymore. Right. Who would have guessed? You can start missing those relaxing stays in the yellow house and long walks through the underground bases. So many other little adventures that follow surprise visits from anyone who happened to be in charge of censorship.

... I wouldn't much mind that, now. It would be something normal. Something that means this is all just a nightmare that I all too vividly imagined.  _Something_ to make me reconsider this dreadful conclusion that I am, indeed, alone. _Any_ show of comradeship common in our beloved union would be nice.

Which is to say, it would be nice is that _something_ happened ri-i-i-ight about ... now.

Or now.

 Maybe now?

   No?

     Alright. 

... A response from our our sister town, that would have been nice, too. Although I fear it met the same fate, if not something-- if not something worse.

QRA RA-0GRSK. SOS.

I think I'm starting to figure out this light. I mean, of course, it can be me assigning anthropomorphic qualities onto which I do not understand and thus both fear and rationalize in vain all due to my incomprehension, but ...

I think-- I feel like-- It's almost like it's starting to seep into my bones whenever I stop talking. No, not just talking - thinking.

Thinking of what made our town  _our_ town, the high mountain and its relay station, the nuclear submarines that dock-- docked every once in the while in the seemingly abandoned bay, mandatory sacrifice of dairy products to the nice but easily upset spirit that lives in the public sauna's chimney. Two sisters who joined the kolkhoz that are not really sisters or how the illegal moonshine brewed by Ded Morzai is our prime export. And fuel.

Which is, of course, a horrible thing to export and run of, so if anybody could hear me, I'd ask not to follow that example.

So, the light. It seems like its deathly quiet, reality wrapping incandescent rays are not just here because I am wherever I am and am not. This-- This  _hungry_ , wicked thing wants to take it all away and I'm-- I won't--! I can't.

I can't, knowing that I might be the last sentient resident of Nulgorsk, let it all wash away into non-existence. Well, less-existence than it already is.

For as long as I am able, I will-- I will hope.

And I will talk. 


End file.
